


A Song of Snow

by Junebug19



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, FINALLY some Vaughan, Multi, Next Generation, Original Character(s), Post-KoA, Some Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-02 23:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junebug19/pseuds/Junebug19
Summary: Throne of Glass second generation story!!A threat to the north. A threat to the east. A threat to the west.After many years away, on request by the queen, The White Wolf has finally returned home. Fenrys brings with him a dangerous message from across the Great Sea—one that may threaten the peace that has settled over Erilea since the end of the war. And when Rhoslyn, the youngest of Aelin's heirs, suffers a fateful encounter with their new enemy, she and Fenrys find that they may be the only ones who can stop them.They call her the Huntress. An Ironteeth, a Crochan, a bastard— and blessed with raw magic rivaled by none. When the Crochan Queen travels east to revive old alliances, her daughter would rather raise hell than be left behind. But what she soon discovers is a much larger threat than she could have imagined.Follow Erilea’s next generation of heroes as their lives entangle, romances arise, and they do their best to save the world— or die trying.





	1. Chapter 1

“Your highness! Stop, please!”

Rhoslyn Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius rolled her eyes. The palace guard’s voice went mercifully silent as she descended into the melee on the castle grounds. Royals and high-borns of the like streamed past, some shrieking in surprise as she darted between them, thrown off balance by heavy furs that they obviously weren’t accustomed to.

She pulled her hood lower across her eyes. No, she would not be dragged back into the palace to endure another hour of instruction on how to address so-and-so, and how much gold the Lord of Anielle currently had stored in their coffers.

He could shove his gold up his shiny ass. She didn’t give a shit.

The holly and bells that hung from the gates to the royal gardens jingled as she pushed them open, taking a shorter route to the stables. The deep cold kept almost everyone inside, so the pathways were empty, save for the few poor souls who decided to brave the northern snows. One woman, beautiful as she was, had hair styled so high that her hood kept falling off, exposing her bare neck to the elements.

That’s how all of the royals seemed to be. Pretty, but with heads full of air.

Luckily she wouldn’t have to endure them much longer. Yulemas was a day away, so most of them would be gone within a fortnight.

Most years, the holiday was enjoyable.

However, this year marked thirty years since the demon king Erawan and queen Maeve were defeated, and her mother had decided to invite royals from all reaches of the continent to a grand celebration.

The greeting ceremony was to begin at sundown, once all the stragglers were inside and warm. Rhoslyn wanted nothing more than to be as far away from the throne room as possible when it commenced, but she knew that her parents would skin her alive if she refused to attend. Her mother had no patience for courtly intrigue either, as she so often announced, but she’d still spent months planning the celebration-- what they’d wear, the music they’d dance to, what would be served at the feast.

Even the thought of it set her head spinning. It seemed that she didn’t inherit her mother’s taste for finery.

She shook her head to clear it, picking up her pace through the gardens.

The doors to the stables were open when she arrived, warm light glowing from within. She shook the snow off her hood as she entered, lifting a hand in the direction of the stable boy. He bowed his head, already reaching for her saddle.

“I’ve got it,” she said, taking it from him. She strode for the farthest stall where her mare already grew restless.

“Easy Aska,” she said, brushing a hand down the horse’s dappled gray coat. She saddled and bridled her, herself, then grabbed her bow and a sheath of arrows. Aska whinnied and tossed her head as Rhoslyn led her out into the snow, happy to be in open air.

They walked to the back of the palace, along the edge of Orynth’s walls. The guards positioned at the southern gate hauled open the doors for her, if not somewhat begrudgingly. _What better do they have to do_? she thought. _They just stand there all day._

Rhoslyn sighed when she finally cleared the city’s walls.

It was silent -- so silent --once those iron doors slammed shut. She squinted, the Plain of Theralis spread out before her. Through the swirling snow, she could barely spot the lone monument that jutted out of the flat landscape like an arm reaching towards the sky. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the now snow-barren plain in all of its glory, when battle had raged between Terrasen and the valg demons she heard so many stories about. Rhoslyn spent many winter nights huddled with her siblings around a fire in the great hall, listening to her mother’s court swap stories about the Great War.

That was, when they bothered to visit.

She had never met many of the warriors that led Terrasen to victory, since they had their own lands to keep in order. Manon Blackbeak, for instance, had visited only two times that she could remember, though Rhoslyn’s mother had never let her meet the fabled witch-queen. Some of the others, like the Lochans and her Uncle Aedion, seemed to be a constant presence. Her Aunt Lysandra tried to visit whenever she could, though for a while she always seemed to be heavily pregnant, and could not travel easily.

Rhoslyn trudged up to the tree line, wondering what Lysandra’s youngest, Rhoe, was up to. Along with being her dearest friend, he was also living in the castle, currently training to join Terrasen’s ranks as a small council member. She wondered how he was fairing—politics bored her almost as much as her own lessons, which she was now very, very late to.

Oakwald loomed above her, beads of ice strung from branches like sparkling tinsel. Rhoslyn led Aska forward to a hidden opening in the trees, veiled by hanging fronds. She pushed them aside, and was instantly transported. Fresh snow coated the forest floor, but she knew the worn path beneath. Could have followed it with her eyes closed.

The trees above filtered through a dim light, setting the forest in hues of blue.

She hauled herself into the saddle and pulled the bow from across her back, notching an arrow. Wood groaned as she pulled it taut, aiming for a target not quite twenty feet from her, hanging from a sturdy branch. She took a deep breath in.

_One._

She pushed her feet further into the stirrups.

_Two._

She shook her hood back from her face.

_Three._

She let the arrow fly as she dug her heels into the horse’s flank.

Aska shot off.

Her hair streamed behind her, coming loose from its braid as she flew through the forest, firing arrow after arrow. Snow pelted her face, but she didn’t feel it—not when her own gifts were that of ice and wind.

She pushed Aska faster, savoring the burn in her legs—in her lungs—as she stood in her stirrups, turning back to shoot a target that she’d passed. The arrow struck true, right atop the painted bullseye, concealed by the other arrows already jutting out of the wood.

Rhoslyn let out a cackle of glee that sent the snowbirds fleeing. A predator—that’s all she was to them, and rightly so.

Just as they cleared a frozen stream, she slung her bow across her back and removed her feet from the stirrups, sliding them up the horse’s sides.

“Ready girl?” she whispered to the mare, just as they picked up more speed. She pulled her legs up under her, balancing on top of the saddle as she’d done a hundred times. Then, just as a branch loomed in front of her at eye level, she sprung.

Her muscles contracted as she flipped over the low hanging beam, arcing gracefully through the air.

She grasped the saddle on impact, but her mare barely flinched. Rhoslyn let out another whoop, her blood pounding.

They barely made it another hundred feet before the wind changed, and she picked up a scent that had her pulling at the reins.

“Stop, Aska,” she breathed, reaching for her bow again. They slowed to a trot, and she slid from the horse’s back, pulling an arrow from her sheath. The scent remained, screaming at her to turn back.

Fae. Powerful.

And, distinctly male.

Footsteps sounded behind her, muffled by the snow. She whirled, and they stilled.

Not twenty feet away stood a cloaked figure, his face hidden beneath the cowl of his hood. How he’d managed to sneak up on her so fast, she had no idea.

She notched her arrow, aiming it at the male.

“Remove your hood,” she commanded.

He took a step closer and she hissed, pulling the bow tighter. To his credit, he froze. But that didn’t stop him from taking an achingly long time to raise his arms, holding his hood for a beat too long to be seen as anything but insolent.

It fell back from his face, revealing lines that could only be described as beautiful. His hair was tied at the nape, its golden color shining, even in the dim light. And those eyes, framed with long, dark lashes, were filled with the sort of amusement that set her teeth on edge.

“Princess,” he drawled.

He sketched a low bow, but the amusement in his eyes didn’t dull.

She spied no weapons on him, but she knew better than to assume. He could have a dagger drawn in a matter of seconds, from within the folds of his cloak. Still, she crossed the distance between them until she could make out the details of his face, the stubble on his jaw. The twin scars that stretched across his golden skin, raised enough that she new the wounds had been deep.

She angled her bow low, pulling the string taut with a groan. The tip of her arrow pressed against the skin of his neck.

“Who are you,” she rasped, trying to steady her heavy breathing.

He blinked, those dark eyes boring depthlessly into her own.

She pressed the arrow closer.

The male didn’t flinch. In fact, he had the nerve to look _bored._

“ _Who are you_ ,” she repeated, but just as he moved to speak, the sharp iron of her arrow pierced his skin and a drop of blood welled, it’s metallic tang filling the air.

Her nostrils flared and she stumbled back.

That _scent_ , like wild juniper and winter air and something spicy that she couldn’t place. Though, she _could_ scent her own familial blood running through his veins.

“You’re her fourth blood-sworn,” she breathed.

For a moment, surprise colored his features, but when she blinked, it was gone. Almost as if she’d imagined it.

He sketched another bow. “At your service.”

“Why are you here?” she asked. If her memory was correct, he was supposed to be continents away, searching for the last member of Maeve’s original seven on request by the queen. As he had been, for as long as she could remember.

“I returned,” he said. “To deal with more pressing matters.”

She quirked a brow. “Pressing matters?”

He didn’t budge.

“What might I have to do with these _pressing matters_?” she drawled, turning away before he could answer. A blatant act of disrespect.

But he sensed her game before it had even begun. And he was more than willing to play.

“It has nothing to do with you. So if you could come with me, _your highness._ ”

She threw him a look from over her shoulder from where she adjusted her horse’s saddle, though they both knew that it needed no adjusting.

“I think I’d prefer to stay here,” she said, waiting for the tightening of his jaw. He only blinked.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t a question.”

Oh, the impatience. The _impertinence_.

She made to get into the saddle, but he cleared his throat. “Your mother sent me—”

“Of course she did.”

He took a step closer, then another.

“She needs you home. It’s urgent.”

Rhoslyn froze when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Strong, even through the thick fabric of her cloak. Frost formed at her fingertips, and she took a deep breath.

 _Control_ , her father’s voice whispered in the back of her mind.

How little she had of it.

Ducking under his arm, she turned to face him. That predatory stillness took over as she eyed his gloved hand, still on her shoulder. Then her eyes slowly shifted to his, and she knew the sort of coldness he saw there. Ordinary males would have run.

With a sharp jerk, she shrugged off his arm.

“Don’t ever touch me.” She let some of that iciness bleed into her voice.

And he had the nerve to _laugh_ , even as his eyes went distant.

“Gods, you’re so much like her,” he breathed.

Rhoslyn didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. It was what they all said—that she’d inherited her mother’s sharp tongue. Her heart of wildfire.

“I need you to come with me,” he said again.

She laughed this time, hating the bitter sound of it.

“And why would I do that?”

She could see the effort it took him not to retort, like a physical ailment. Considering the amount of time he was said to have spent with her family of warriors, she figured that he could probably hold his own well enough—could possibly even upstage them, when it came to finding wicked things to say.

“What a loyal dog you are,” she drawled.

His answering grin was purely lupine.

“You’d be surprised.”

Then, before she had the chance to blink, he reached out grabbed her arm, grip like a vice. Their eyes met, just as blackness rose up and swallowed her whole.


	2. Chapter 2

“Gods, would you please do as you’re asked for once?” Aelin’s voice sounded, just as they materialized in the middle of the throne room.

Rhoslyn fell to her knees, pulling air into her lungs as her vision swam. That crushing darkness dissipated quickly, but her entire body felt weakened by it.

“What the hell?” she panted.

“Language, Rhoslyn,” her mother said as she crossed the room from where she’d been surveying the finishing touches on the decorations.

“Thank you, Fenrys,” she nodded towards the golden haired male. He dipped his head before turning his gaze to Rhoslyn, still on the floor.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I would have warned you, but—”

She glared at him.

He only shrugged. “Some vomit their first time. I’d say it went well.”

Rhoslyn reigned in her urge to retort and pushed off from the floor, straightening her cloak. Her mother came to a halt in front of her, and Rhoslyn almost flinched at the look in her eyes—the one that she was so often on the receiving end of. More than any of her older siblings, all of whom were likely off completing whatever important duty they’d been tasked with that morning.

“I asked you to stay in this afternoon,” her mother said. “You missed your lessons.”

Rhoslyn laughed, incredulous. “ _My lessons?_ When have you ever cared if I miss my lessons?”

Aelin let out an offended noise, but something in her voice was off-kilter. “I have _always_ cared—”

“What’s going on?” Rhoslyn snapped, not buying any of it. “Why did you send him,” she flung her arm vaguely in the direction of Fenrys, “to come and suck me through whatever hell-dimension that was?”

“I didn’t specify _how_ he had to bring you home,” her mother shrugged. “Only that I needed you here immediately.”

Rhoslyn narrowed her eyes, glancing back and forth between the two Fae standing before her, looking for all the world like they’d rather be speaking of anything else.

“I still don’t understand why you had to send your _blood sworn_ to retrieve me, when I’m perfectly capable of—”

Her mother cut her off, “It isn’t safe. Outside the castle.”

Rhoslyn stilled. “Why not?”

Fenrys and Aelin shared a glance.

“A message arrived,” her mother said, softly.

Her gut twisted, but she kept pushing.

“A message about what?”

Aelin was silent for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say. Rhoslyn opened her mouth to argue, just as her mother sighed and said, “This morning, a witch arrived from the Wastes. The Crochan Queen shouldn’t be far behind. A threat has been made against Erilea. They received a letter—from the west.”

Rhoslyn shook her head. “Farther west than the Wastes? That’s impossible.”

“I thought so, too,” Aelin swallowed. “But, it appears I was wrong.”

“How do you know it isn’t just someone trying to get under your skin? It could be from anywhere.”

“The message,” Aelin said, glancing to Fenrys, “was from an old friend of ours.”

“Who?” Rhoslyn demanded.

Her mother pursed her lips, and Rhoslyn quickly felt her temper rising.

“Stop being so cryptic. I can handle it, whatever it is.”

Aelin frowned. “I don’t think—”

“Vaughan,” Fenrys cut in, ignoring the warning look from her mother. “His name is Vaughan.”

“What did his letter say?” she asked. The room was empty, the servants having scurried away when their bickering began. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say they were afraid of her—of that unpredictableness that always trailed her, like an unwelcome friend..

“It’s not important,” her mother said, and whether or not she knew it, the warmth left her face, replaced by cool calculation.

“Like hell it’s not,” she retorted, whirling on Fenrys.

His eyes widened, but he shook his head.

_Loyal beast._

“Where’s Father?” Rhoslyn tried.

“He’s out. Don’t bother asking him, either.”

“I’m not a child,” she bristled.

“You’re twenty one,” her mother said, tone hard.

Rhoslyn let out a noise of disbelief. “I know. Which is older than you were when you saved _the entire rutting world._ ”

She looked up into her mother’s eyes—to the fear and anger there. Fear of this new, foreign threat. And anger at the daughter who was always so careless, who had so little respect for her own safety.

She tried to stand tall, but Rhoslyn was half a head shorter than her mother, and her gaze could never compare to the pure _command_ in the queen’s eyes that she so wished to replicate. Rhoslyn had always been fine boned, even more so as a child. And when they went head to head this way, it was always painfully obvious who the true warrior was. Who had commanded armies into battle. Who could wield a sword like no one else in their lands. Who had tricked a demon king and queen into turning on each other, with nothing more than her clever tongue.

“You don’t trust me,” Rhoslyn said cooly.

“I’m keeping you _safe,_ ” her mother said, voice rising.

“This is not keeping me safe! I need to _know_! How do you expect me to defend myself if I—”’

“You _will not_ have to defend yourself,” she growled. “Not now, not ever.”

Rhoslyn took a step closer, and her breath turned frigid.

“Gods, you can’t protect me from everything!”

“ _I can sure as hell try_ ,” her mother seethed.

Rhoslyn began to feel that familiar, deep cold creep up on her, when a silver-haired male strode into the room, trailed by a pretty, dark-haired female.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. Her brother’s eyes widened at the looks on their faces, and he quickly stepped between them.

“What’s going on?” he repeated.

“You are not to leave this castle,” Aelin said, stepping around her son.

Without another word, Rhoslyn turned on her heel and strode from the throne room.

***

She was angry. And all she wanted to do in that moment was to sit down in the back of a tavern and get very, _very_ drunk—another trait that others told her she’d inherited from her mother.

Though, she assumed the queen only got drunk in her private chambers, preferably with a tall glass of water nearby.

Rhoslyn had no such qualms.

She stalked through the city streets, brushing past fae and human alike, all out to enjoy Yulemas Eve. Her cloak concealed most of her face, so any passerby would likely mistake her for some high-born court fledgeling.

Night had fallen, and everything was illuminated in oranges and reds by the braziers lining the storefronts. Her hands were balled into fists to keep her magic at bay, where it swelled beneath the surface. She breathed in the cool air, letting it soothe the ice that ran through her veins.

Still, she couldn’t help the fear that gripped her. Their bickering had been nothing new, but Rhoslyn knew that it was different this time—that something was seriously wrong. Her mother would not have reacted so strongly otherwise. And her bloodsworn…

Rhoslyn didn’t know what to think of him, either.

She turned off of the main street, to an alley that wound itself along the backside of the shops. Light streamed from the cracks of a closed door, which she quickly approached, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that no one was following.

Three knocks, then two, and the door swung open.

Rhoslyn stepped into the crowded, dimly lit tavern. The bearded man by the door nodded to her once before he turned back to his post. He knew perfectly well who she was, as did the bartender, who offered her a quick grin that she did not return.

She stalked to the back and waited until she was slumped down in a booth before she took a look around the room. Men and women filled most of the tables, red in the face and heavily lidded. It was unlikely to find any Fae there, but not completely unheard of. Rhoslyn spied one a few tables over, ears peeking out from beneath his dark hair. Luckily, he kept his head down.

She’d never liked their prying eyes. At least the humans knew not to stare.

Hard wood dug into her back, but she didn’t care. She waved down one of the barmaids—a tall, freckled girl—and ordered a drink before putting her head in her hands.

The greeting ceremony had likely started already. Her mother would be livid.

But Rhoslyn couldn’t bring herself to care.

She had only a moment’s peace before a figure slid into the booth across from her. Stiffening, she removed her head from her hands, peering up into the male’s face from beneath her hood.

Darin peered right back.

“Gods, are you _following me_?” she hissed.

“No… I… are you okay?” Her brother reached across the table to tug off her hood.

She only slumped lower in her seat, folding her arms across her chest.

“Rhos,” he urged.

She was saved from having to answer when the barmaid came back with her drink. The poor girl stumbled at the sight of the prince, sitting tall in the back of the dingy bar. She started to bow, but her eyes widened when she realized that she was still holding Rhoslyn’s drink, and had spilled some down her front when she bent over.

Rhoslyn contained her laugh, waving off the girl’s muttered apologies. Darin offered her a small smile, and her face turned three shades darker.

Rhoslyn took the drink from her, and the girl scurried away, horrified.

“Go home, Darin,” she said. Her brother frowned, but still managed not to look unpleasant. The epitome of courtly grace.

He shook his head, silver hair falling into his eyes. They could have been twins, save for the ring of gold around his pupils, and the fact that he was two years older.

That’s where the similarities ended.

Darin was a scholar. No matter that he’d been blessed with a warrior’s grace, or his tall, lethal build.

But his mind—that’s where his true strength lay.

She could see it in his eyes, even when he did so little as survey the faces of the people in the tavern, then her own face.

He likely knew exactly what she was thinking, as he’d always been able to do.

“She wants to keep you safe. I don’t think she’ll be able to see past that,” he said, and she didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. He’d probably been filled in on everything after Rhoslyn had stormed out.

“I know,” Rhoslyn huffed. “She just makes me so gods-damned angry. Everyone does.”

He raised a brow. “Everyone?”

“No,” she sighed. “Not you.”

“I didn’t think so,” he said, and that stupid grin crept onto his lips. She swatted at him, but he grabbed her hand out of the air, squeezing it until she was forced to pull away.

That same hand flashed him a particularly vulgar gesture.

He laughed, sudden and loud, and she couldn’t help it as her scowl slid off her face.

Suddenly, the bar didn’t seem so stuffy. She took a moment to look around, to where even the usually stone-faced men were laughing with their friends. Another barmaid—not the freckled girl, as she was likely hiding—came to take the prince’s order. This one was generously curved, and kept batting her eyelashes at him. Rhoslyn resisted the urge to ask her if she had something in her eye.

Darin had just finished ordering a drink when the Fae she’d spied earlier strode over to their table. She could barely make out his face from beneath his hood, but she spied the elongated canines and dark hair before he leaned down to Darin and murmured something to him, too low for her to hear.

He stiffened, glancing to Rhoslyn. With a quick nod, he dismissed the male, who sketched a low bow before leaving.

“What does our dearest mother want, now?” she asked, drily.

He blinked. “That message wasn’t from her.”

“Oh,” she said. Darin would tell her if it was something important. He always had.

But the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes made her uneasy.

She sat up straighter, and her hands tightened around her glass.

“Do you know what was in that letter?” she asked quietly.

He looked at her, then, and his eyes turned sad.

“Rhos...”

She shoved her disappointment, deep, deep down, to that place where she kept all of the ugly parts of herself.

Of course. _Of course_ he knew.

They fell into silence.

He wasn’t going to tell her, and she knew better than to push him.

The tavern slowly began to empty, but neither of them said anything, even as the hours passed. He knew her too well—when to talk, and when she only needed his presence for comfort.

After a long while, bells chimed midnight in the distance, and if she listened hard enough, she was sure she could hear carolers singing in the streets.

Darin slid out of the booth and stood, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She closed her eyes.

“Happy Yulemas, Rhoslyn,” he said, and when she opened them, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come. thanks for reading and please leave feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading:) More coming soon.


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